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The Case of the Velvet Claws :: Гарднер Эрл Стенли
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She spoke, in a low voice, “We went out, and after that, you came here.”
“Then what happened?” pressed Locke.
“I undressed,” she muttered.
“Go on,” said Locke. “Tell it to him. Give him the whole business. Speak up so he can hear you.”
“I went to bed,” she said slowly, “and I’d had a couple of drinks.”
“What time was that?” asked Mason.
“About eleventhirty, I guess,” she said.
Locke stared at her. “What happened after that?” he demanded.
She shook her head. “I woke up this morning with an awful headache, Frank. And I knew, of course, that you were here when I went to sleep. But I don’t know what time you went out, or anything about it. I passed out after I got into bed.”
Locke jumped away from her and stood in a corner, as though he were guarding himself against a physical attack from both of them.
“You dirty, doublecrossing…”
Mason interrupted, “That’s no way to talk to a lady.”
Locke was furious. “You damn fool. Can’t you see she ain’t a lady?”
Esther Linten stared at him from angry eyes. “That’s not going to get you anywhere, Frank. If you didn’t want me to tell the truth, why the hell didn’t you tell me you wanted an alibi? If you’d wanted me to lie about it why didn’t you tip me off, and I’d have said anything you wanted me to say. But you told me to tell the truth and I did.”
Locke cursed again.
“Well,” said the lawyer, “it’s very evident that this young lady is dressing. We don’t want to detain her. I’m in a hurry Locke. Do you want to go with me, or do you want to stay here with her?”
Locke’s tone was ominous as he said, “I’ll stay here with her.”
“Fine,” Mason remarked, “I’ll put in a telephone call from here.”
He walked over to the telephone, took down the receiver, and said, “Police Headquarters.”
Locke watched him with the look of a cornered rat in his eyes.
After a while Mason spoke into the transmitter, “Get me Sidney Drumm, will you? He’s on the Detective Force.”
Locke’s voice rasped out in agony, “For God’s sake, hang up that receiver, quick.”
Mason turned to survey him with mild curiosity.
“Hang it up!” yelled Locke. “Damn it, you’ve got the whip hand. You’ve worked a frameup on me that I can’t buck. Not that the frameup isn’t crude as hell, but I don’t dare to have you go into the motive. That’s the thing that cooks me.
She spoke, in a low voice, “We went out, and after that, you came here.”
“Then what happened?” pressed Locke.
“I undressed,” she muttered.
“Go on,” said Locke. “Tell it to him. Give him the whole business. Speak up so he can hear you.”
“I went to bed,” she said slowly, “and I’d had a couple of drinks.”
“What time was that?” asked Mason.
“About eleventhirty, I guess,” she said.
Locke stared at her. “What happened after that?” he demanded.
She shook her head. “I woke up this morning with an awful headache, Frank. And I knew, of course, that you were here when I went to sleep. But I don’t know what time you went out, or anything about it. I passed out after I got into bed.”
Locke jumped away from her and stood in a corner, as though he were guarding himself against a physical attack from both of them.
“You dirty, doublecrossing…”
Mason interrupted, “That’s no way to talk to a lady.”
Locke was furious. “You damn fool. Can’t you see she ain’t a lady?”
Esther Linten stared at him from angry eyes. “That’s not going to get you anywhere, Frank. If you didn’t want me to tell the truth, why the hell didn’t you tell me you wanted an alibi? If you’d wanted me to lie about it why didn’t you tip me off, and I’d have said anything you wanted me to say. But you told me to tell the truth and I did.”
Locke cursed again.
“Well,” said the lawyer, “it’s very evident that this young lady is dressing. We don’t want to detain her. I’m in a hurry Locke. Do you want to go with me, or do you want to stay here with her?”
Locke’s tone was ominous as he said, “I’ll stay here with her.”
“Fine,” Mason remarked, “I’ll put in a telephone call from here.”
He walked over to the telephone, took down the receiver, and said, “Police Headquarters.”
Locke watched him with the look of a cornered rat in his eyes.
After a while Mason spoke into the transmitter, “Get me Sidney Drumm, will you? He’s on the Detective Force.”
Locke’s voice rasped out in agony, “For God’s sake, hang up that receiver, quick.”
Mason turned to survey him with mild curiosity.
“Hang it up!” yelled Locke. “Damn it, you’ve got the whip hand. You’ve worked a frameup on me that I can’t buck. Not that the frameup isn’t crude as hell, but I don’t dare to have you go into the motive. That’s the thing that cooks me.